Freedom
by Kat Lee formerly Pirate Turner
Summary: A writer learns to be careful what she writes when she receives a visit from a freed Elemental.


Title: "Freedom"  
Author: Pirate Turner  
Dedicated To & Written For: A dear friend by the name of Jack, but no, not my beloved Jack Sparrow  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: A writer learns to be careful what she writes when she receives a visit from a freed Elemental.  
Warning: None  
Disclaimer: Jack Frost is, and forever shall be, © & TM himself. Any and all recognizable characters are © & TM their rightful owners, not the author. Everything else is © & TM the author. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

An icy Winter wind blew into her bedroom, covering her flesh with goosebumps as easily and immediately as it ruffled her curtains. She looked up from her writing and froze at the sight of the being who was perched on her windowsill, staring at her from blue eyes that made her shiver through to her very core. He looked as though he could see right through her, and though he appeared to be young, the aura of a thousand lifetimes emanated loudly from him.

She swallowed hard as the feeling that he had been watching her for a long time and had only now chosen to make his presence known struck her. Though his icy frame was starkly different from the complete blackness of the dark January night, he did not shine brilliantly as he had before. This night wrapped around him like a shroud, cloaking him and making it impossible to tell exactly where he ended and the dark of night began. No, she realized, her fright growing until it paled her face, if he had not wanted her to see him, she would never have seen him, and she would never know how long he had watched her from both afar and near, waiting for this one moment in time.

Somewhere in her house, a clock struck midnight; she barely heard it. Cold air puffed from his lungs as he spoke in a voice she had never heard so chilling before. "That's right," he said, calling her by name, as though he had read her mind, which was only one of countless abilities he possessed although he did not have to employ it to know her thoughts now. She should have known she could never keep controlling him forever.

He flew into the room but did not fully advance on her yet. He had waited so long. He could wait a little while longer to make his point clear to this woman, if she could even really be called that, who had penned her tales about him to grant her the power she desired. She had controlled him for a time. That was true, but it would end now. Never again would he bow to another creature of her nature or beyond, regardless of the written word.

He had paid the price. He had survived the trials of taking his case all the way to the most ancient Gods and beyond. She had made him her love slave through the stories she had spun, but no longer would he be her slave or any one else's. He was a free creature, as free as any Elemental could truly be, and she would learn that tonight . . . learn that and much more. When he was done with her, she would never again dare to mettle in the life of any one greater than her own mortal race.

He approached her slowly, his icy gaze flicking to the latest story she had been writing and then back to her face, where her growing fear was becoming steadily more transparent. "Writing again? What am I to do this time at your bidding?" he demanded, his eyes meeting hers again. "You have had me kill and had me make love to women I never had any interest in, yourself included." His stern, ice-cold gaze burned through to her very soul. "Others have written me as wicked before, but none have ever dared to make me their slave. It ends tonight." He spoke her name a second time, and she knew her time had come.

She tried to speak, but her words froze in her throat. She tried to back up, but his gaze kept her riveted to the spot. She had no power, she suddenly realized. She had no power over him! For the first time since she had called him, she was completely powerless. "Pl-Please," she finally spoke, "h-ha-have mercy."

"Have any of your kind shown me mercy?" he countered, closing in on her. His ice blue eyes did not move from hers again, not even to so much as blink. "Did your people show me mercy any of the times that they tried to force me to become a villain? They painted me wicked, evil, even ugly, none of which are things I have ever been." A smile graced his handsome features, a gesture that normally took her breath away, but there was no warmth behind that smile, only an unspoken promise that made her tremble beneath his gaze.

"Did you even once show me mercy? You penned me as a hero, true, but you made me become your hero, doing things . . . and people I never would have before." He glared down into her eyes. "You knew I had no interest in your mortal life, and yet you persisted. Knowing the ancient rule that whatever a writer pens becomes reality in one world or another, and knowing that I am a being of all realms, you penned what you knew would bring me to my knees before you, what would give you ultimate control of my life and of my body, but what you forgot is that no one can control my soul."

"It was not easy," he confessed, "to make my case with those few who possess higher and older magic than mine, to the Gods Themselves, but I did it and now I've come to you one last time." He spoke her name a third time before reaching out to her and taking her into his arms for the last time, and she knew she was doomed.

He dipped her and brought her closer to him. She could feel every inch of his body against hers, and his coldness chilled her through to the bone. His eyes gazed into hers, his infinite fury and power speaking clearly for themselves in the windows to his soul.

He was not evil. He would never be evil, no matter who tried to make him that way, but he was a being of freedom and enormous, ancient power and she had stripped him of that power and forced him into her bed. He would end this, he had long ago decided, much the same way she had began it. For once, she would be completely powerless, and he, as he had been before she had forced her way into his life, would have complete power.

So many foolish mortals relegated him to minor roles, thinking that he only had a little power at his disposal, but he was far more than just Winter's Warrior. He was Winter, the power and youth of the season, not the season at its close as was his immediate superior, Old Man Winter. He was all that was good and powerful about the season, from the tiniest snowflake to the mightiest blizzard, and she would learn that now and never forget it.

Arctic winds began to whip up and through her room, and snow started to fall. He would never admit that each snowflake was a tear that she had forced from his eyes through the trials she had forced him through. The snow fell quickly, covering not only her room or her house but her entire state in a thick, white blanket, as the winds ripped at her clothes, hair, and skin. It nipped and bit, and he grinned as he held her close. She would know, he swore, what it was like to be at somebody else's control, and when he was done with her, she would never again attempt what she had done to him to any other being.

He pressed her close until he could feel almost every inch of her flesh through her tattering clothes. She shuddered and shook against him. She tried to break free, but he held her firm, his eyes staring directly down into her frightened orbs. "You wanted me? This is me."

He kissed her then, a hard, demanding kiss wherein there was no passion or love, only his fury and hate and her fear. He breathed ice into her veins, and her body went limp against his. Her pulse slowed, and her flesh began to turn blue. He kissed her, cutting through her body to her very soul, as the Winter storm that whistled through her house tore at her savagely. He felt her life force grow ever weaker until, just before her heart would have beat its last, he released her.

She fell to the snow-covered floor beneath him, staring up at him through huge, terrified eyes whose lashes were laced with icicles. Hovering before her, he looked like a Giant rather than the petite, Faerie being he was at heart. He had not raised his voice a single time and still did not now, but his words whistled throughout her house and her being, making their way to the deepest recesses of her mind, heart, and soul and marking her forever. "Never," he warned, "ever attempt again what you have done with me to another being. If, indeed, you ever try again to enslave another free soul, I will return, and then you will know just what I am capable of in the role of a villain. Don't try to call me back to you," he said, speaking her name a final time, "for you will not walk away from me ever again."

With his tale told, his punishment unleashed, and his warning embedded into the deepest fabric of her soul, Jack Frost made his departure. He left her the snow as a reminder as he whistled out of her bedroom and flew out into the night. He flew circles in the dark sky as he returned to his work, his every ounce of being surging with renewed freedom. Never again would he be any one's play toy, in any sense of the term, for the written word would no longer affect him. He was free, just as he was meant to be and just as he would forever more be. He was Winter, he was unleashed, and he had never felt happier.

**The End**


End file.
